What Is Expected
by LemonStar
Summary: ..Jon/Sansa.. Modern AU. She began to step away from him, but Jon stopped her, his hands still holding her head. "Do not be angry with me," he said in a low, quiet voice. "I'm not angry," she shook her head. "I'm… disappointed." "That's even worse," he nearly cringed at both the word and the idea of Sansa ever being such a thing in regards to him.


**I have never really written this pairing before, but I love them and I am so happy with this story.**

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"You're staring," Sansa felt it necessary to point out to her husband.

Jon, sitting on the edge of their bed, smiled a little, but did not move his eyes away, watching her as she sat her vanity, combing out her hair. She rolled her eyes at him through the mirror's reflection, but the smile that she was trying to keep contained was obvious.

But then the playfulness fell from his face and Sansa, still watching through the mirror as she began braiding and twisting her hair, pinning it like a crown around her head, saw him lift his fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinching there, his eye glasses in his other hand. Abandoning her hair for the moment, she set her brush down and then turned on the stool to face him.

"What is it?" Sansa asked him softly.

Jon shook his head as she knew he would, but she continued looking at him and waiting; knowing that he would tell her eventually. And after another passing minute, he sighed as she knew he would and he lifted his eyes to look at her. He looked so tired. He had been locked away in his office for most of the afternoon and she hadn't bothered him; entertaining her brother, Robb, and his wife, Jeyne, without wanting to pull Jon away from whatever it was that occupied him so. Very few things could keep him away when Robb was visiting so she knew it had been important.

Jon leaned forward and reached for her hand. "I don't want to make you angry."

"Then don't tell me something that will cause me to be," she said, giving him a small smile.

He did not return it though. Instead, his eyes lowered to the carpet as his thumb brushed back and forth along her knuckles, falling silent once again as he took the time to gather his thoughts.

"Jon," Sansa could not help, but prompt him this time, and his eyes lifted to hers once more.

"Lord Tytos Blackwood contacted me," he began and instantly, Sansa knew what he was going to say next. Her hand pulled from his and she stood up, Jon getting to his feet as well, but he stayed in his spot, watching as Sansa began pacing their bedroom back and forth. "They are loyal to House Tully, Sansa,-" he began to remind her.

Sansa instantly spun on him. "That has nothing to do with anything!" She snapped at him. "We promised each other Jon. The moment she was born, we promised her and we promised each other that we wouldn't sell her off to someone like she was a head of cattle!"

"I'm not selling her to anyone," Jon said and he was doing his best to speak in a calm tone, hoping that it would keep Sansa's temper at bay though he knew his efforts would be futile.

His wife was a Stark and could morph into a growling wolf at a moment's notice – especially when their children were involved. It was one of the things he loved about her most; the fierce protectivness she had over their child. And over him, too. They were her pack and no one ever came close to causing them any pain without getting through her first.

"Sansa," he said her name again, still speaking gently, and he took steps towards her. "I didn't agree to anything-"

"And you won't!" Sansa said, her eyes blazing as she looked at him.

He reached out and took her hands, silently relieved when she let him. "Lord Tytos lost his son and daughter-in-law and he is only thinking of his grandson's future."

"He can go to another family. It will not be _our_ daughter," Sansa shook her head. "Do you hear me, Jon? Not our daughter."

Jon held onto her hands, able to feel them trembling with his fingers and he wondered if it was from anger or something else. He squeezed them and then gently pulled on her, causing her to step towards him and he released one of her hands so he could rub his hand up her bare arm and then grasped her shoulder.

"I would never do anything to bring harm or sadness to our daughter," he told her softly, staring into her eyes. "You know that. Do you doubt that?"

It took Sansa more seconds than he would have liked for her to answer, but she then shook her head, and his hand slipped to the back of her neck, his fingers lost in the coolness of her skin. He pulled her foreward another step and now, her bare toes were touching the toes of his shoes.

"I did not give Lord Tytos my decision," he said, almost speaking in a whisper now, his eyes never leaving hers.

The anger was leaving her, but in its place, he could see her distress over the whole matter. He knew it would be like this. He hadn't expected anything different. And she was right. He knew that as well. Their daughter, just three-years-old, was their love and keeper of her parents' hearts. The moment Lyanna Snow had been born, no two parents had ever loved their child more than Jon and Sansa when the doctor held up their screaming, bloody of a mess daughter for them to see.

His parentage kept from him for so many years, when the truth came out, Ned Stark finally sitting Jon down on his twenty-first birthday and telling him the truth – that he was in fact his uncle and not his father – Jon hadn't known which way to turn. His entire life had felt like a lie to him and suddenly, all sense of identity was stripped from him. A product of a teenage mother and a married man who had promised her the world and then had abandoned her only for her to die while bringing Jon into this world… it was all too much.

He had Stark blood flowing through him; just not from the Stark he had thought for his whole life.

He left Winterfell; left the North and went even further North – not knowing where he was going or what he was going to do, but only knowing that he couldn't stay.

Sansa had been the one to find him. Sitting on a stool in a dingy bar near the Wall, drowning himself in his countless cup of mead, Sansa had walked in with her presence that had always demanded instant attention from everyone in the room. This time had been no different. The men playing pool or sitting on their stools instantly turned when the statuesque red-head walked in, holding her head high as she always did, her nose only wrinkling slightly from the smell in the air.

Jon had been too far gone to notice her though. He had been steadily keeping himself drunk ever since _Uncle_ Ned told him the news and he wanted to keep it that way. Sansa was nothing if not persistent though and she strode right up to him and sat down on the empty stool next to him.

"You're making everyone sick with worry," she told him without any other greeting.

That was Sansa though. Always straight to the point.

(Jon would grow to also love that about her.)

Jon lifted his head from having it hang over his mug and he looked at her, squinting his eyes as if he couldn't quite see her, and then when he did, all he did was smirk.

"And who is everyone?" He slurred.

"Your family, Jon," Sansa answered as if she already had no patience for this. "You're going to come home with me right now. You're going to shower-" Again, her nose wrinkled. "And then you're going to go talk to your professors to see about the work you have to make up from all of the lectures you've missed for the past week."

Jon just continued staring at her – giving her his fiercest glare – but Sansa just sat there and glared right back, unmoving from his attempt at intimidation.

"I'm not going anywhere," he snapped at her and he was aware that he was behaving, and sounding, like a petulant child, but he didn't give a flying rat's ass right now. He knocked his head back and drained the last of the mead from his mug. "Another," he ordered of the bartender as he slammed his mug down on the bartop.

"Don't you dare," Sansa instantly frowned at the bartender and the man held up his hands at the ferocious flash in her eyes and after taking Jon's empty mug, he went to the other side of the bar. Sansa turned back to Jon. "You still have a family, Jon. A family who loves you and are all worried about you. We're just your cousins now instead of your half-siblings. We're still your family."

Jon glared at her.

She made it sound so simple, but she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. The man she had grown up believing was her father was still her father. If the places had been switched, he didn't doubt that she would be sitting exactly where he was.

Sansa may have been tough, but she wasn't indestructable.

"Fuck you, _cousin_ ," he sneered.

Sansa blinked at him and a second passed before she lifted her hand and slapped him across the face – her palm against his cheek making a sharp crack that had the bar falling completely silent.

Jon blinked at her and the slap had almost made him instantly sober.

"Never speak to me like that again, Jon Snow," Sansa said in a low, steady voice.

She slid from the stool and stood there, staring at him. His cheek throbbed and he knew he probably had the print of her hand on it. He could only stare at her as if he had never seen her before. She tightened the scarf around her neck. It was red and cashmere – a Christmas present from her mom – and further showed how little business Sansa Stark had in a place like this.

"Get up. We're leaving," she then said and this time, he did not protest.

He numbly rose from his stool and his coat was still on, but he had lost his scarf and gloves somewhere; probably lost at another bar he had been at before this one. If Sansa's slap hadn't sobered him up, stepping into the frigid winter night outside certainly did the trick. He paused for a moment and looked around as the snow swirled in the air – a wind blowing the light flakes so they never seemed to actually land on anything.

"What?" Sansa asked him, stopping and turning back towards him when she realized that he wasn't walking at her side.

"I don't remember where my car is," he admitted and for the first time, he felt embarrassed.

Sansa kept her face impassive though as she came back to him. "Come on," her arm slid through his and gave him a gentle tug. "I'll take care of it."

And that, he didn't doubt.

They got into her car and he fell asleep almost instantly with his head against the window as Sansa turned the heat on full blast for the first few miles and as his eyes dropped shut, listening to the classical music she always listened to when she drove, he wondered how she had found him though he realized that he wasn't necessarily surprised that she was the one who had.

He would have just expected it to be Rob or Arya.

He slept the entire drive back to Winterfell and only woke when he felt the car stop again. He had expected her to have taken him back to her parents' house, but instead, they were parked in her driveway. Sansa had moved out the year before to the surprise – and slight shock – of everyone. Of all of the Stark children, it had just been assumed that Sansa would be the one to live at home until she married and moved with her husband – though she had recently broken up with her fiancé, Harry, and everyone had just thought that he would have been said husband since they had been promised to one another since both could even walk properly.

But she had found herself a little cottage and along with her savings and a small loan from her parents – with constant promises that she would pay them back in full – she had been able to purchase it. She was still attending university and her parents were still paying her tuition, but Sansa got herself a job to help pay towards her bills now as well.

No one quite knew when it happened – or _why_ it had happened – but it was as if Sansa had woken up one day and decided that she wanted to no longer keep falling back and relying on her family's respectable name for everything in her life.

Jon had never told her, but he admired the hell out of her for it. He kept it to himself and came over with Robb on the weekends to help her paint, or to help her unclog her bathtub drain or to help when the kitchen faucet was leaking.

Now, in her driveway, he turned his head and looked at her, the question silent, but obvious.

"You do not want my mother to smell you right now," was all Sansa said before getting out.

Jon got out of the car as well and followed her up the front brick path to the front door. When winter passed and spring arrived, Sansa had already told them her plans for the outside of the house. She wanted to repaint the front door yellow and plant yellow flowers and there were two hooks on the front porch that were made for a porch swing and she was eager to hang one.

It sounded just about perfect to Jon, but again, he never told her.

Inside the house, she flipped on the small lamp she had on the table next to the front door, and Sansa's beloved Siberian Husky, Lady, was there, greeting them both with eager tail wags.

Christ. Ghost. Jon nearly groaned. His own dog had been left behind and he didn't even know who was taking care of him right now.

Sansa pushed him further into the house so she could close and lock the door behind him. She took off her scarf and coat, hanging both in the hall closet, and without a word, she tugged Jon's coat off and hung it up as well. Jon stood there awkwardly for a moment. It obviously wasn't his first time here, but for the first time, he didn't know what to do with himself or where to go.

He looked around the front living room. As always, Sansa's house was just about spotless except for the textbooks and papers neatly stacked on the coffee table in front of her couch.

"You're going to smell like a blueberry, but it's far better than smelling like you just pulled yourself out of someone's septic tank," Sansa said and again, she was gently pushing him – this time down the hallway towards the bathroom, and Jon couldn't help, but smirk at the description.

He went without protest, just now realizing how tired he was, and in the bathroom, he stripped himself of the clothes he had been wearing for too many days in a row now before getting into Sansa's bathtub, bracing his hands on the tiled wall and bowing his head forward, attempting to drown himself beneath the steaming hot spray of water.

He used her shampoo and soap and she was right. When he finally turned the water off, he did smell like a blueberry. This whole time of knowing her, he had never known that this was what she smlled like. He had always been aware that Sansa smelled like something sweet; something fruity, but he had never been able to place it. A girl like Sansa always smelled like something like that. But now, knowing that it was blueberry, Jon found himself smiling.

He hadn't heard Sansa come into the bathroom when he had been in the shower, but when he shoved the curtain back, he saw that his clothes and boots from the floor were gone and on the counter, there were fresh clothes now – a pair of black sweatpants, clean boxers, and a white tee-shirt. As Jon changed into them, he couldn't help, but wonder if he was wearing the ex's clothes.

When he finally stepped from the bathroom, feeling like a human being again, his black curls combed out and pulled back into a knot he sometimes wore them in, he came and found Sansa in her little kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee. For the first time, he looked at the clock. It was winter and pitch black out, but he was surprised to see that it was only five o'clock in the evening. He was exhausted like it was two o'clock in the morning. Sansa had also changed into her pajamas – a pair of skin-tight purple yoga pants and an oversized black sweatshirt with the collar slipping down past one pale shoulder.

Lady came back to him with the same tail wag and Jon smiled easier this time, rubbing the dog behind both of her ears.

"Better?" Sansa asked.

"Much," he admitted. He looked at her for a moment as she went to the cabinet, pulling down two ceramic mugs. "Sansa," he then heard himself say and she turned towards him. It was only then that he realized that he didn't know what to say besides her name; as if all he wanted to say in that moment was her name.

He had always been aware of how beautiful Sansa Stark was. Even a blind man would have known. But he had never been one to dwell on it because for his whole life, she had been his sister. His half-sister, yes, but still, looking at her and thinking how beautiful she was, it just wasn't appropriate, to say the least.

Sansa had always seemed so different from the rest of them. While the others had gratefully gotten dirty and stained their clothes with grass and had bruised one another more than once, Sansa kept distance, making sure every part of her remained perfect and _clean_. She loved her siblings fiercely and they loved her, but they were all aware of how different she was. There was just some aspect of her that everyone felt they had to protect and keep safe. Even Rickon, the youngest Stark, at seven had kicked a man in the shin in the park one day without thinking about it when the little boy thought that the man had been staring at Sansa for too long.

She didn't know – or maybe she did – how many boys and men both Robb and Jon had taken upon themselves to have little chats with when they thought these would-be suitors were getting just a little too comfortable in their words and touches towards the older Stark girl.

"Why did you and Harry end the engagement?" Jon asked and the question took her by surprise, judging from the way her eyes widened slightly, and Jon admitted that he was surprised, too, having never expected to ask her anything like that.

Sansa looked at him for a moment, crossing her arms over her chest – loosely and not confrontational – and the sweatshirt was so large on her, the sleeves covered her hands. Jon wondered if the sweatshirt had belonged to Harry once.

She leaned back against the counter behind her and gave a small shrug, her eyes dropping down to the floor. "I thought Harry was my soulmate and Harry… well, I was just one of his many soulmates."

Jon stared at her for a moment, letting that sink in. "Why didn't you tell any of us?"

None of them had ever really liked Harry – except for Ned and Catalyn Stark – but they had all tolerated him because of the agreement between the families that their oldest son would marry the Stark's oldest daughter and Sansa seemed to be quite happy with that arrangement; if her smiles up at Harry as they stood side-by-side at one event or another were any indication.

Sansa had been completely in love and so happy and everyone kept their opinions to themselves.

Sansa lifted her eyes now to look at him. "So you and Robb could have gone and beat him up? What good would that have done for anyone?"

"Would have made _me_ feel good," Jon grumbled and Sansa laughed softly at that.

Jon kept watching her closely, looking for any trace of hurt to pass over her face from speaking of this – and if it did, he wouldn't care what Sansa wanted. He'd go introduce his fist to Harry's face. But nothing like that seemed to linger on her. She seemed – if anything – at peace.

"I grew up, knowing that I was promised to this man and I think I just fell in love with the whole notion. Having a betrothed. And it certainly helped that we got along. We didn't hate one another. I thought I had fallen in love with him and I knew that, someday, he would love me, too, once we had gotten married and had gotten to know one another more. I just thought that surely he would want to be with me like I with him. Or… how I _thought_ I wanted to be with him."

Jon was quiet, leaning against the heavy wood eating table behind him. He mirrored her and crossed his arms over his chest, listening to her.

It occurred to him in that moment that he and Sansa had never been truly alone like this. They had been alone in rooms together, yes, but that had been in the Stark house with the others nearby in other rooms. Now, tonight, it was just the two of them and Jon wondered why he was feeling more comfortable now than he had for so long; even before Ned had told him about his true parentage.

He had spent his life, thinking that he was Ned Stark's son; his bastard. And though the family had always included him in everything, loved by his siblings who he loved in return, he had never been quite sure of his place or what had been expected of him. Robb was the oldest son; Ned Stark's true son and he would be the one to follow in their father's footsteps. It was expected of him. Jon had always wondered – but had never asked – what was expected of him.

Here though, in Sansa's small kitchen, smelling like a blueberry and looking at her across from him, he felt completely at ease and a knot in his shoulders began to uncurl iteself. He looked at Sansa and the pale of her shoulder that the fallen sweatshirt had left exposed and he felt…

He felt _home_.

"Is that why you moved out? Bought this place?" He asked her though he knew the answer.

"I had to be on my own for a while. To see if I could actually be on my own. I've never been before. Always letting my parents or Harry or _you_ take care of me-"

"I don't mind taking care of you, Sansa," Jon heard himself cut in and she looked at him as he felt his ears burning. He cleared his throat. "We all don't mind – Robb and Arya, Bran and Rickon."

"And you," Sansa said.

He cleared his throat again and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face as she stared at him, but he couldn't bring himself to look anywhere else.

"Of course me," he said quietly.

The coffee finished breweing and Sansa filled the two mugs. She brought his over to him, leaving it black – the way he preferred. He felt his fingers touch hers as she passed the mug to him.

"Thank you," he said and they were staring much closer now and he could see the blue of her eyes clearly. "Not just for all of this, but for coming to find me and pull my head out of my ass."

Sansa smiled faintly at that and he was well aware of her hand now, resting on his bicep. He felt his skin warm and then burn beneath her touch through the tee-shirt.

"I know what it feels like to feel a little lost, too," she said quietly.

He stared at her for a moment and didn't say anything to that at first, her words tumbling about in his mind. "I'll help you find your way if you help me find mine," he then said as if making a decision.

Sansa laughed and nodded at that, her eyes twinkling. "Sounds like a deal to me," she agreed.

She squeezed his arm and went to go get the creamer from the refrigerator for her own coffee and Jon couldn't stop watching her. He looked at her as if suddenly, she had become his entire world and she was his present and future all rolled into one being.

Now, six years later – five years of marriage and two children later – Jon was looking at her like that again. He knew he actually always looked at her like that. He couldn't imagine himself ever looking at Sansa in any other way.

He understood why she was so upset. Hours earlier, he had shared her exact opinion.

Their daughter, Lyanna, was both a Stark and a Snow and in the past few years, the last name "Snow" had become almost as impressive as the name "Stark" or any of the other old Houses. Graduating from Law School and becoming the youngest assistant prosecutor in the D.A.'s office, Jon had made himself and his name impressive in all social circles. And Sansa – beautiful, perfect Sansa – was his wife and the mother of his children (and the best third grade teacher in all of the North if anyone asked him) – and when they went anywhere and she was on his arm, Jon always felt like he was the tallest man walking into the room.

Most days and nights, he had a hard time believing that this life of his was as good as it truly was.

He knew something like this would happen eventually. He had been bracing himself for it, to be honest. The oldest Houses in the North looked to it simply as the way things were done between them. Betrothals between children were common and practically expected and all of the Houses were related to one another in one way or another.

But still, Jon had thought he would have more time before a decision like this had to be made. His daughter was only three and still wore diapers at night and he and Sansa had promised one another – after her own failed betrothal – that they would not do to their daughter what had been done to Sansa for most of her life.

Sansa was the perfect high-born daughter and knew of duty and responsibility. As the oldest daughter, she had had lessons on how to be a proper Lady that Arya had never had to have for if Ned could secure good marriages for his two oldest children, the younger three were free to do as they wished. Not fair in the least, but both Robb and Sansa had always understood their responsibilities. Sansa's duty, she had been raised to believe, was to marry her betrothed and have many children and run a happy home, being happy while she did it.

When she had found out about Harry's infidelity – his many infidelities – her heart had been broken for she had truly thought she had been in love with the man and not understanding that she had only _thought_ to be in love with him because that was what was expected of her.

Jon and Sansa had always been in agreement of this. Lyanna could get herself married when she was eighteen - or at any age - or she could spend her life, exploring all of Westeros and North of the Wall if that was what she wished, but she, and she alone, would be the one to make that decision.

Jon had thought it was rather obvious, but now that Lord Tytos Blackwood had contacted him with a possible arrangement made between Lyanna Snow and the heir to House Blackwood, Jon found himself actually hesitating in his refusal. Now that he was a father, he only thought of his daughter. He knew that he and Sansa would not be around forever to take care of her and their one-year-old son, Benjen, and there was nothing wrong with wanting to ensure that Lyanna would be cared for by someone for the rest of her life after he and Sansa had passed on.

He couldn't find the words though to explain that to Sansa. He spoke in a courtroom nearly every day, but when it came to his wife, he often found himself to be tongue-tied.

"Please, Jon," Sansa whispered, looking up at him. "Don't accept this from Lord Tytos. Or _anyone_."

Jon stared at her silently and then he lifted his hands, cupping the sides of her head, and he kissed her on the forehead. "I will not make any decision without you at my side," he murmured to her, his lips still to her skin, and she released a shaky breath.

They stood there for neither knew how long. Mere minutes or an entire hour, but Sansa released a sigh finally and tilted her eyes to his.

"We shouldn't be late," she said and he nodded in agreement, but still, he did not step back from her and Sansa kept her own hands on his hips. She leaned in and kissed the side of his throat and he nearly shivered in response. "I've hung your suit on the inside of your closet door," she told him as she began to step away from him, but Jon stopped her, his hands still holding her head.

"Do not be angry with me," he said in a low, quiet voice.

"I'm not angry," she shook her head. "I'm… disappointed."

"That's even worse," he nearly cringed at both the word and the idea of Sansa _ever_ being such a thing in regards to him.

Everything he ever did for these past six years was trying to make her the happiest she could be. She had become his life. His world. His complete everything and if there was even one day where she wasn't happy, this was all for naught.

"I knew we would get offers," Sansa continued. "From the day I found out I was having a daughter, I knew. A daughter who is a Snow and a Stark? _Of course_ Houses from all over would want her. I had just hoped…" she trailed off and shook her head and took steps away from him and Jon let her, turning to keep watching her, his arms hanging limply at his sides. "I've always wanted to be a mother and when I held her for the first time, I knew I would do anything to give her everything. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her."

"I know that, Sansa," Jon said. "I feel exactly the same."

"I know," she nodded her head. "I just… I've always felt so close to her. She's my daughter and I'm sure we're going to have more children, but Lyanna will remain my oldest child. My first. She's special in so many ways because of that."

She returned to sit down at her vanity, but she did not resume getting herself ready for the party they had to attend that evening. She instead looked at her reflection.

"After Harry and before you, I didn't know if anything would ever happen to me the way I imagined it. I didn't know if I would ever get married. I didn't know if I would ever fall in love or if someone would ever fall in love me. I couldn't even imagine myself anymore having a baby."

Jon silently crossed to her and crouched down next to her, looking up at her, and Sansa turned her head away from the mirror to look down at him.

"But then we fell in love," she said that with a small smile and Jon smiled as well. "And then I was pregnant with Lyanna and when she was born, I already knew. She's the best thing I've ever done. And I knew that I didn't want to ever put the same pressures on her that were put on me."

Jon was silent, staring up at her, and he then leaned in, his lips resting on her bare arm. He didn't say anything for a moment as he kept his lips there and Sansa lifted her other hand, bringing it to his face, brushing her thumb along his cheek.

"I just want to make sure that she's taken care of," Jon said nearly in a whisper.

"Can we wait? I know we won't be able to ignore this altogether, but for now… can we wait?" Sansa asked and Jon pulled his lips back to look at her. "Wait until she's at least speaking in full sentences and can understand what all of this means? If this is something we even consider for her, I'll want her to have a say in any decision that is made for her."

Jon nodded without even having to think it over. "Of course. I'll write back to Lord Tytos tonight before we leave," he agreed and Sansa's smile was all the response he needed. There had been a knot in his chest he hadn't even realized until it was completely gone again with just that smile of hers.

"You do forget one thing," Sansa then said, a playful smile beginning to creep across her face.

"Oh, I do? What's that?" Jon asked, smiling just because she was.

"Our daughter is a Snow and a Stark. She can take care of herself."

Jon's smile grew at that, having never heard anything more true than that, and Sansa laughed a little. "Of course," he nodded in agreement. "Just look at who her mother is."

He pushed himself to his knees then and pressed his lips to hers, able to feel Sansa smiling against his.

…

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